


Can't Fall Any Further

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood Bond, Dancing, Established Relationship, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Suspects, Soul Bond, The Jungle (Teen Wolf)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can feel it in his veins, swimming through his blood and filling him up, a force of nature to be reckoned with, their bond. They belong to each other now. The weight in his chest that doesn't seem heavy at all tells him so. </p><p>Stiles isn't sure what any of that means just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, remember when I said the last part was going to be the end? I LIED.
> 
> This kept tugging at me even when I told it to stop. I'd like to pretend that I put up a fight, but I did not. Plus, I promised my dear reader, Azamiko, that I would get Scott's reaction down and I do my best to keep my promises (you'll have to wait until the next part for Scott's reaction though~). Now, I could have done something simple, but I did not. Am not. Currently. I'm planning on doing two more parts after this, so three new parts total, like a second story arc or...something...yeah...Hope a bunch of you guys come back to read this. I really appreciated all the amazing support I got on the first three. Y'all are awesome!
> 
> Also, since I haven't written anything substantial in a while due to life stuff, I figured I'd go ahead and whip out both chapters at the same time. Especially since I have no idea when I'll get the next part out, so. Enjoy two chapters in one post!

Stiles wakes slowly, lazily, Derek's thumb rubbing across his hipbone gently. It's the perfect start to the morning, he thinks. And it should happen more often. It's surprisingly not awkward between them, Derek easily accepting Stiles into his arms, when he rolls over, as if they've done this a thousand times before.

Derek has woken them up early enough to avoid getting caught in bed by the Sheriff. Stiles is only slightly hesitant when he mentions Derek should stay for breakfast. Derek's rapid acquiescence is enough to bring a smile to the teen's face and keep it there even after he convinces Stiles that they should shower alone lest the Sheriff finds them that way instead.

After a quick text to his father, informing him that he invited Derek to breakfast, and less than enthusiastic _'Fine'_ in response, Stiles takes a moment to enjoy the luxurious contentment that's hanging around the room.

It's stupid how happy he is.

He can't help it though, and he grins again, just thinking about Derek naked in his shower right now, naked beside him this morning, and naked over him last night.

It’s nice, the being in a relationship thing. Or sharing a terrifying bond of blood or whatever. Either way. It’s a nice feeling. Stiles honestly doesn’t think anything could make his current situation not worth what he went through to get there. But they haven’t talked to Deaton yet; the vet may well have something to say that will change all that. For now though Stiles is going to enjoy the moment.

Everything feels so _right_ in this single span of time that Stiles practically boggles at it. For the first time in a long time he doesn't feel like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not that the other shoe isn't going to drop. Geez. It's Stiles and Derek—the other shoe always drops. Stiles isn't sure in what way the shit is going to hit the fan next—it may well involve his new creature of blood—but he finds he doesn't care. Whatever happens next happens. Stiles is no longer suffering under the delusion that he could possibly do something by worrying about it beforehand. He'll be there when it matters, he always has, always will. And Derek will be there too, lending his strength to Stiles in a way that makes him feel _invincible._

Isn't that a funny thing to feel when you're surrounded by monsters and nightmares?

He does feel that way though and he's sure he owes it all to Derek, to what Derek gave him to become a part of him. He wonders how he ever managed to live his life before this...this feeling of _wholeness_ that Derek has given him.

Stiles can feel it in his veins, swimming through his blood and filling him up, a force of nature to be reckoned with, their _bond_. They belong to each other now. The weight in his chest that doesn't seem heavy at all tells him so.

Stiles isn’t sure what any of that means just yet.

Derek returns looking damp and soft and gorgeous and he nudges Stiles out of the bed. Stiles shuffles into the bathroom, showers, and dresses. Back in the bedroom Derek is wearing a fresh set of clothes that he's fetched from the trunk of his car, hair styled with the gel he keeps in there to avoid suspicion were it not coiffed when it ought to be.

The werewolf is perched on the edge of the bed and Stiles wanders into Derek's embrace. He runs a hand through the thick, dark hair and Derek presses his face into Stiles' abdomen. They don't move for a few breaths.

"C'mon. Let's go make pancakes. Dad can't be grumpy if there are pancakes," Stiles says and leads Derek downstairs by the hand.

Coffee is made and a stack of pancakes is slowly appearing, when the Sheriff gets home at 7:42. Earlier than usual for him.

Stiles wants to shake his head at his father for trying to catch them doing something. It’s completely unnecessary. He doesn’t need to know about their relationship just yet, but Stiles will tell him when the time comes. It’s not something he’s planning on hiding for very long. He just wants his dad to have a chance to clear away some of the previous judgments he's no doubt made about a man he's arrested before.

“Derek,” John says when he sees him at the table. He offers a hand for Derek to shake and Derek takes it, respectfully rising from his chair for a moment. “Nice to see you again.”

“You, too, Sheriff,” Derek says. One of them is lying. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” the Sheriff says glancing at his son as he takes a seat. “Pancakes, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Any particular reason for that?” the Sheriff asks, eyes going back to Derek and pinning him in place. Derek calmly returns his stare as he passes a cup of coffee over to him.

“Because we have a guest?” Stiles says, turning to look at his dad.

“And why do we have a guest?” John asks, gaze still on Derek.

“We’re both going to the animal clinic later,” Stiles replies. Which is true. But the next part won't be.

“Why are you going to the animal clinic?” the Sheriff inquires, brow crinkled in confusion.

“To bother Scott, what else?” Stiles says.

“And Derek?”

“Deaton knew my family well,” Derek says before Stiles can answer. “I was going to ask him something.”

The subject of Derek’s dead family is one the Sheriff obligingly lets drop. “Well, tell Scott I say 'hi'.”

“Will do,” Stiles sing-songs. He turns around presenting a plate of pancakes. “Who’s ready to eat?”

Stiles sets the plate down for the two men to start picking from. He turns around to grab a frying pan and a spatula and moves a sunny-side-up egg onto each person’s plate. Derek gets two.

The conversation becomes easy, is easy again, just like the last time they did this. Stiles is incredibly pleased by this. By the hand of fate Derek is clearly supposed to be here. Is supposed to be part of this family. But Stiles won’t think about that too much yet. It’s too soon for that sort of commitment. Even if they are already bonded by blood.

The Sheriff heads up to bed, not without a backward glance at Derek. He’s clearly still mistrustful of the man, but it’s fading, Stiles can see. His progress is noticeable. After all, last time he told Derek to leave and escorted him to the door. Stiles wonders what his dad would think of Derek if he told him how many times he’s saved his life; he only knows about one instance and a mild one at that. It’s the only reason the Sheriff is tolerating him in the house at all, Stiles thinks—is the only reason he’s letting Stiles leave with him now. Plus, he knows he can always call Deaton later to ask if they were actually there. Which he may well do.

Derek helps Stiles with the dishes. Their elbows bump against each other the whole time and Stiles is practically giddy with how good it feels to have Derek standing next to him.

The clinic opens early, so they go ahead and leave. Derek drives and Stiles prattles on about his father’s eating habits and how oblivious Scott has been about everything that’s happened with them recently and pretty much anything else that’s not the reason they’re making this trip.

Stiles is a little nervous going to see Deaton. He had never really talked to the vet about what went down with the mountain ash circle at The Jungle and now he and Derek are approaching him out of the blue with some sort of freaky blood bond that materializes as a wolf. Stiles doesn't know what Deaton will think of it, doesn't know what Deaton will think of _him_ for being able to do such a thing. As far as Stiles knows, Deaton's more of a medicine man than a sorcerer. He's hoping his powers aren't "frightening" or anything like that. Because, well…they kind of are.

Derek is staying very close to him as they make their way inside. It's reassuring. Comforting. The bell chimes above them and Stiles approaches the swinging half door, holding it open for Derek. Deaton appears a moment later and Stiles lets the barrier fall shut.

"Stiles, Derek," Deaton says, "I wasn't expecting either of you today. Scott's not here right now."

"We know," Stiles says quickly. "We're here to see you."

"Oh." Deaton's expression is seemingly relaxed, but his eyes are sharp. "Come into the back."

They follow him back to the examination room, where so many things have taken place since Scott got turned. Stiles thinks of Derek telling him to cut off his arm and almost laughs.

"What's this about?" Deaton asks, leaning back against the exam table casually.

"Well…" Stiles begins, glancing at Derek. Stiles' hand moves to the back of his neck to rub at it nervously. "It may be good to start with: I was kidnapped by this witch, who wanted to eat my heart for youth and power. Or something like that."

Deaton's eyebrows rise to his non-existent hairline. "Good lord, Stiles. Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Derek got me out of there, uh…a-okay."

Deaton spares Derek a glance before asking, "Was this your stalker, who left the rose?"

"Yeah, one and the same. He apparently was like over three hundred years old and has been eating the hearts of other witches to stay alive and all that. Real stand-up guy," Stiles says sarcastically. "We killed him though, so…"

"You killed him?"

"Well, _we_ didn't, so much as…We had a little help. That's sort of why we're here."

Deaton grows suspicious and he squints at Stiles. "What kind of help?"

Stiles and Derek look at each other. Derek understands that Stiles is asking if it's okay to show him. Derek shrugs. They haven't let it out save for the one time, but he's pretty sure it won't kill them all. Stiles had a good command of it when they fought Daniel. He doesn't care if anyone does or doesn't know about it.

Stiles nods and tells Deaton, "It would probably be easier just to show you."

Derek pops his claws out, opens his hand up, and when Stiles casts him a look, pricks him as gently as possible on the meat of his palm. Blood beads up from Stiles' pale flesh and it's almost pretty the way the deep red looks against his snow white skin.

Stiles is worried for about half a second that the wolf isn't going to appear or that he's going to have to do something to summon it that he doesn't know how to do. But the beast does not disappoint and the dull thrum in his veins sings just before it bursts into action. The liquid curls into the air and then leaps for Derek's. Derek's is already there to meet it halfway.

The wolf stands before them a few choreographed swirls later and Deaton stares at it completely aghast.

Stiles was afraid of this sort of reaction.

He tries to lighten the severity of the situation by saying, "Surprise!" but it's lackluster and very clearly covering his worry.

"Stiles…" Deaton breathes out. The wolf cocks its head at him, turns to look back at Stiles inquisitively.

"Uh," Stiles says, not sure what it wants from him. It just continues to stare, waiting.

Luckily, Derek is much more in touch with his animal side. He tells Stiles, "It's waiting for orders. Instructions. I think it wants to know who Deaton is. If he's okay or not."

"Oh," Stiles says, blinking down at it. "Okay. Um, me? I have to do it?"

Derek nods. "I think so."

"All right," Stiles says and Derek can see him metaphorically rolling up his sleeves. "Hi, boy. Um. Boy? We're gonna go with boy. Hi, boy," he says more confidently this time. "Nice to see you again."

The wolf tilts its head and its mouth sags open happily.

"Yeah, you think so, too, don't you? We're in a different place now, aren't we? This is the animal clinic. That's Deaton." Stiles points to the man and the wolf follows it. "He's a vet and he runs this place. He's a friend and we do not hurt him, okay?"

An attentive listener, the creature looks back at Stiles and…woofs.

Stiles blinks owlishly at it."I…I definitely didn't know it could do that. It…can speak? What?"

"Stiles, it's _sentient_ ," Deaton says like that's supposed to mean something to Stiles.

"Okay?"

"Stiles, you have no idea—you don't know what you've done here. What you have here. This is…"

Stiles grimaces and waits for the verdict.

"Remarkable," Deaton finishes.

Stiles brightens. "You mean it's not a horrible monstrosity?"

"Oh, no, it's definitely a monstrosity."

Stiles' face falls into a look of sheer panic.

"Horrible…" Deaton says consideringly, hand on his chin, "not so much. That's actually up to you, Stiles."

"I don't understand. Any of this," Stiles states and his emotions are starting to spike.

“Of course, you don’t,” Deaton says. “This is so beyond anything you could have ever prepared for or studied, Stiles.”

“What _is_ it exactly?”

When the wolf seems to realize that there won’t be any action any time soon, it pads over to Stiles and curls up at his feet. Stiles stares at it, jaw clenched. His emotions boil over in a wave of confusion and chaos.

“What’s happening?” Stiles bites out, and Derek takes a step toward him, stands beside him and rubs his hands up and down Stiles’ arms. The wolf turns its head and rests its muzzle on Derek’s shoe. Stiles is staring hard enough to set something on fire.

“Stiles, calm down,” Deaton says, an appeasing hand out held. “This is not a _bad_ thing. It could have been, but it’s not. Your “wolf” is merely a manifestation of...well,” Deaton says, eyes flicking to Derek, “of what I imagine is your bond with Derek.” Deaton’s eyes travel to Derek’s hands braced around Stiles’ arms and he says slowly, “Tell me...Have the two of you...bonded in any other ways lately?”

Stiles frowns, not quite sure what he’s getting at. But, Derek understands all too well and says, “Yes. We’ve had sex.”

“Ah,” Deaton says, clearly understanding something. Stiles turns bright red, but doesn’t comment. Deaton is already moving on. “That explains its level of obedience.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, chokes down his embarrassment.

Deaton explains, “A creature such as this is usually more...savage than the one at your feet is.”

Stiles glances at the wolf, curled around his ankles, perfectly calm and perfectly harmless.

“Yours isn’t because you have sufficient control over it due to your...consummation.”

“Deaton, you’re losing me,” Stiles says.

“Let’s start from the beginning, then, shall we? Stiles, Derek, when was the first time the two of you went through a near-death experience together?”

Stiles blinks, not really sure what that has to do with anything. It seems totally out of left field. But the memory is fresh in his mind. He looks at Derek for confirmation and says, “I guess...it would have been the time with your arm. Right here."

Derek nods.

“All right. And the next one?”

Stiles blinks again, thinking. “Um...”

“Peter,” Derek says. “The time at the hospital. When we first found out he was the Alpha."

“Oh, yeah, definitely that,” Stiles says. "Plus, when we all killed him."

“And after that?” Deaton prods.

“The pool,” Stiles and Derek say at the same time, already thinking ahead.

“And the next?”

“Well, there was the time with Matt at the station. _Everybody_ almost died that night," Sitles states.

“And we were together for a big chunk of it,” Derek adds.

“Yeah, lying on the ground, _paralyzed_ ,” Stiles says with disgust. “Frickin’ kanima.”

“And the next?”

“When I had a panic attack here? Just a few weeks ago.”

“Then?”

“The rose-vines thing.”

“Then?”

“The homicidal, cannibalistic witch. Yesterday.”

Deaton nods largely. “How many instances is that?”

A pause, then Stiles replies, “Eight.”

“In how many months?”

“Three and a half?”

"Eight times, in less than four months the two of you have been together in times of crisis. That does something to a person, that frequency, that familiarity. It's called association."

Stiles' eyes light up in recognition. "Like in psychology."

"Yes. The two of you have started associating life-or-death situations with receiving aid from one another. Because after all in each of these instances one of you had a hand in saving the other's life, did you not?"

"We did," Derek says and he looks at Stiles.

Stiles looks back at him and as it dawns on him, says, "We conditioned ourselves to call on each other whenever we're in danger."

Derek doesn't have anything to say to that, but it looks like he wants to apologize for it, the clown. He's so ridiculous. Stiles takes one of Derek's hands into his and faces Deaton again.

"So what does that mean?" he asks.

"It means you started forming a bond before you even knew it," Deaton supplies. "Stiles, your magic has been seeking Derek out for what I imagine is quite some time now."

That makes sense. The way it had felt when Daniel was about to kill him. It had been _reaching_ for Derek.

Deaton continues, "It finally found him during your confrontation with the other witch last night. Were you very near to death, when it happened?"

"Well, there was a knife sticking out of my chest, so yeah, I _think_ so."

Deaton winces sympathetically. "It was the catalyst your magic needed to latch onto Derek. It happened to do it by forming a creature from blood, but that was probably because that's what was available at the time."

It's Stiles' turn to wince. Derek squeezes his hand tighter.

"What you've created is a vehicle for your bond with Derek. A form for it to attack and protect with. They're called power animals. Their purpose is to empower and protect the individual to whom they attach themselves, a type of guardian if you will. Traditionally, they were familiars, spirits that latched onto a particular young witch to help them. Over the years though, magic users became capable of creating their own power animals, from scratch if you will, using their own energy and magic. That's usually a very unstable formula. Yours though, is no ordinary power animal. Your wolf is a product of your magic, but it's also a product of your bond with Derek. Derek's part in the equation is keeping it...manageable."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Stiles asks.

Deaton's gaze settles on the wolf at Stiles' feet and he says, "It means it isn't going to decide to violently kill anyone on its own. Which is a good thing."

"No kidding," Stiles says flatly.

Deaton clarifies, "This creature's existence is entirely because of you, Stiles. It's your power animal. You brought it to life and you are the one who commands it. But…"

"But?" Stiles presses.

"But normally this level of control wouldn't last very long, wouldn't even really exist in the first place. The power animal and its master feed off of one another's power and magic in a continuous loop until one day there's too much power for either of you to handle."

"What would happen then?"

"It would turn on you, killing you and everyone in the immediate area until it ran out of power."

"Oh."

"But, with Derek interrupting that loop, I don't think you have to worry about that. Especially seeing it now. He seems to be providing a good anchor for you both."

The wolf is snoozing peacefully when Stiles looks down and he really, just barely almost thinks it's cute. Body of blood aside.

"Wait," Stiles backtracks. "Derek is my anchor?"

Deaton nods, giving them both a meaningful look.

Stiles looks at Derek. He's still holding onto his hand. He seems sad, when Stiles finds his eyes. Stiles gets it, he does. Derek thinks that Stiles will think this is a bad thing, that being bonded to Derek, that _depending_ on Derek will be nothing but a bad taste in Stiles' mouth. Really. He's so ridiculous sometimes.

Stiles leans in and pecks Derek on the lips. "Stop that," he tells him and turns back to Deaton. "What else?"

"That particular element of your relationship is actually helping your control of the wolf. The closer the two of you are the calmer the wolf will be."

"So, wait, like…we're his parents or something and if mommy and daddy are fighting, junior gets upset?"

"Not quite. It won't misbehave if you two are having a fight, but it will be affected by other things. Distance for example."

"Distance?"

"Both physical and emotional. If you are far apart for a length of time, each of you will start to feel it and it will be painful. If you are far enough away, you won't be able to summon the wolf at all."

"How far?"

"You'd have to figure that out for yourselves. As for emotionally…well…if either of you should actually start feeling distant toward the other…well, it won't do anything good."

"But, as long as we still—feel for each other, it won't matter how mad we are at each other. Right?"

"Right. So long as that baseline feeling is in there somewhere, the three of you will be all right."

"Okay," Stiles says with a decisive nod. "So. The blood thing. Is that normal? You said people don't usually have a third player in this? Wouldn't you die if you lost that much blood?"

"It's not normal. Most power animals will be more along the lines of a spirit. A solid, physical form like this is unusual to say the least."

That's mildly unsettling. Stiles goes on to ask, "It's a wolf because of Derek, right? Because he's a werewolf?"

"I imagine so, yes."

"So how do I make it go back?"

Deaton shrugs. "I have no idea. This is all beyond my abilities, Stiles. You are truly special to have created something like this."

"So this really is all on me. Great."

Derek squeezes his hand again.

"Us," Stiles corrects. "Right."

Derek gives him a steady look and Stiles steels himself.

"All right. Here goes nothing. Back in you go, boy."

Stiles holds out the hand he pricked earlier and wills the wolf to return. It works and the creature shakes itself awake lazily as it starts twisting apart. Derek cuts his hand to reopen the wound that had already healed. The wolf has vanished in a matter of seconds.

Deaton is standing there shaking his head in wonder. He waves when Stiles tells him goodbye.

To Derek the teen says, "C'mon. Let's go home."


	2. Into You

It’s soft. Whatever this is between them, it’s so unbelievably _soft_.

Derek feels a peace in his bones he’s never known before, slouched on the couch in the Stilinski living room with Stiles pressed against him, the teen’s shoulder blade on Derek’s chest and the rest of him tucked away safely under Derek’s arm.

The wolf is prancing around the living room attacking and mauling a stick that Stiles brought in for it. It acts like a pup. But then it is only two days old. Derek wonders if it will mellow out with age; become wiser with time; grow up as Stiles does.

Everything is warm and good and whole. Derek never wants to leave this couch.

“Does it smell like blood?” Stiles asks. He’s been musing for twenty minutes now.

“Not really,” Derek answers. “The smell is there, but mostly it's just magic I smell."

“What does magic smell like?”

“Different things. Depends on the magic. Depends on the user.”

“What does mine smell like?”

Derek inhales deeply, like he's double-checking before he responds. He's not double-checking. He's stalling. He hadn't wanted Stiles to ask that question.

He finally answers. “Fire.”

Stiles’ whole body turns as rigid as a board. He jerks up to turn around and look at Derek. “ _What?_ ”

Derek doesn’t repeat his answer. He’s knows that’s not what the 'what' is for. The 'what' is for lack of anything better to say.

“I smell like...” Stiles sounds scared. Broken.

“No. You don’t. But your magic does.”

“How do you...Oh my god.” Stiles stands up, turns to the wolf. “Come back,” he bites out like red hot steel and the smell of _burning_ only increases. Once the wolf has disappeared he faces Derek again. “Derek, how can you—how can I—you just weren’t going to say anything?”

“It wasn’t a problem.”

“How can it not be a _problem_?” Stiles demands. His cheeks are turning ruddy, the way they do every time he gets worked up. Every time he gets upset.

"Because it's not."

"Derek—"

"Stiles. It's not. It's really not, okay? You...it doesn't smell like that kind of fire."

"What does that mean?" Stiles asks quietly.

"That fire...smelled like death. Like it was taking away all the good things in the world, just burning them away into ash. But your fire smells like life. Like growing and hope and bright things. It's...it's different. It just is."

Stiles stares at Derek for a long minute. Derek sits quietly looking at his laced fingers in his lap.

Finally Stiles says, "Let's go dancing tonight."

Derek's head snaps up. "What?"

"Dancing. We'll go to The Jungle. Yeah?"

Derek peers at Stiles as if he has officially lost his mind. "Stiles, you're a terrible dancer."

"Are you?"

Derek shrugs. "I'm all right, I guess."

"Then we'll be fine. Dancing. Tonight. Yeah?"

Derek huffs. He does not really want to go dancing. Ever. But he'll do it for Stiles because that's the kind of sucker he is.

"Yeah."

Stiles beams. He's already moving on to the next thing as Derek returns a fraction of his grin with a soft smile. Derek leans back and listens to Stiles naming off places they could go eat if they don't want to run into the Sheriff.

  


They wait in the line at The Jungle, no sneaking in the back door this time. Derek is immediately approved without so much as a bat of an eyelash. The maitre d' at the door eyes Stiles doubtfully until Stiles turns a mischievous smirk on him and presses up against Derek's back to peer at him over Derek's shoulder. The man blinks, startled by the sudden change in demeanor, and waves them through, with a backward glance at Stiles.

Once inside Stiles slots into place beside Derek. "Do you want to get a drink first?" he asks.

Derek immediately says, "I'm not buying you a drink."

Stiles rolls his eyes at him. "That's not what I was asking."

"Right," Derek says sarcastically and Stiles smirks at him.

"No drinks, then. Let's dance," Stiles commands and Derek follows him toward the thick mass of bodies moving to the rhythmic, beating bass of the music. They're standing at the edge of it. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff for some reason.

Dancing isn't Derek's thing. He knows how. Peter taught him actually, a very long time ago. He knows the basics of everything from waltz to salsa. He used to use it to impress girls, but that stage of his life ended abruptly, a long time ago, too.

The club scene is somewhere he spent a lot of time while he was in New York with Laura. Finding a stranger to spend the evening with was an easy way to forget about everything else for a while. Looking out at the floor now though it feels like a foreign locale and he hesitates to dive back into a world he left behind.

But as soon as Stiles' fingertips trace up his biceps, he can feel his blood surging up to meet them. Stiles must feel it, too, because he smiles like he expected it. Derek suddenly understands why they're here.

"This is an experiment, isn't it?" he asks even though he very well knows the answer.

Stiles' mischievous grin is back and he replies, "Maybe."

"What are you testing?" Derek asks. He suspects he knows the answer to that, too. Stiles' fingers haven't moved and Derek's blood is pulsing hard beneath them.

"Movement," Stiles says and gets this far-off look in his eyes as he stares at Derek's black t-shirt in the middle of his chest. He's quiet in thought for a minute, then blinks up at Derek and grins dazzlingly. "Shall we dance?"

Derek sighs in a put-upon way, but takes Stiles' hand when it's offered and lets himself be led onto the dance floor. Stiles stops suddenly, turning, and presses both of his hands to Derek's chest. The feeling of Stiles' blood calling out to his _thrums_ through him. It's like a siren's call, loud and irresistible and confusing.

"Answer me," Stiles says.

Derek isn't sure he knows how to do that exactly, but he finds it's a simple matter of letting go. He doesn't know which way is up for a second and he's dizzy from it. It feels like he's falling, like he went right over that cliff. His body jerks preemptively, expecting a sickening impact. But Stiles is there to grab him, hold onto him, and then, he's floating. His hands go to Stiles' wrists and Stiles waits patiently for him to adjust to the feeling of a perfect bond.

Derek realizes with a rush that that's what this is. A perfect bond. It's a synchronization of their very beings and Derek knows that if one of them were to die in that moment, the other one would too. Stiles has upended his world completely and emptied out the contents and they're both free-falling along with it at a pace of Stiles' choosing.

It's surprising how peaceful that feels.

Derek breathes. The feeling settles and Derek finds his feet. He opens his eyes, not sure of when he closed them and sees Stiles smiling softly at him.

"Ready?" he asks.

Derek nods. Stiles' smile widens, he shifts and drags one of Derek's arms around his waist. Derek gets the hint and the other one latches on to Stiles' free hand, and brings it up.

"This isn't really the type of dancing people do here," Derek says, but he's already sinking into the beat of the music, his heel tapping.

"I know. But it's what we're doing."

Derek grins.

They move like they've practiced for years, like they've done this routine hundreds of times, like they know the steps in their sleep. Derek is doing swing, which works well with the upbeat EDM blasting through the speakers. Stiles follows his every move; he's never learned a dance step in his life.

It's ridiculous really. How easy it is. They move as one, their minds filled with only the music and each other.

Nothing has ever felt this natural before.

When Derek spins Stiles back into him, they both stop, somehow knowing that's all. The song changes to something with too much dubstep to dance to properly and Derek holds Stiles to him completely unwilling to let go.

Stiles looks into Derek's face and says, "We should go home. It's Saturday, you know."

Derek does know. And he knows what that means. It means the Sheriff will be working all night. A rumble rises up from his chest at the prospect of having the night alone with Stiles.

Stiles smirks when he feels the vibration reverberating in his own chest. He leans into it. "Let's go."

It's fast when they get up to Stiles' room, both too worked up from the dance at the club. Derek accidentally rips Stiles' shirt. Stiles doesn't seem at all remorseful. Their bond is like a drum in their ears, a call to arms, and they answer it with eagerness. It's just as smooth as the dancing. Two becomes one and each knows exactly what the other one wants and how to give it to them. It's all slickness and sweat and sound.

They wind down into perfect bliss and each other's arms. Their hearts keep tempo through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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